


Redline - A RWBY Fan Novel

by balancedKuma



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/F, F/M, Gen, Racing, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Street Racing, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15521730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balancedKuma/pseuds/balancedKuma
Summary: Rather than everyone forging weapons, they forge their own cars and live off of racing.This work parallels very closely to RWBY canon, but still holds unique to itself with its own plotline.





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my first project in actually writing out a story of any kind, and to call it ambitious is a monstrous understatement.  
> The updates will be slow, since I'm still new to writing, but if anyone has any advice, I'll always be listening for input.  
> Thank you for your patience, and please enjoy the ride. ^__^

   The wind ripped around my car, firm in staying lazy along the track. My engine gave a soft sigh while I shift it into the next gear, gunning for speed. Bright floodlights shone my way under the broken moon, rising slowly in dusk. Straightaways sharply transform into banked turns as I hit the brakes, turn the wheel, and hit the gas to start drifting. Dust, smoke, and flickering sparks of red kick from the rear tires while the front wheels keep me straight through the turns. Wild and reckless, but they were all good enough.

    A glance at the dashboard shows me the split time. It’s not fast enough. Nobody’s ever fast enough when chasing the memory of someone they hold so close. Another turn— another drift— pushing the engine back into gear. Checking my time has me flooring the gas into the last straight as my flash of red passes the starting line for the fifth time. I can swear I see her just in front of me, her taillights glimmering in the past sun. The ghostly sight ignites my drive to push faster. I need to go faster. I need to catch her. She has to finish—

\- - - - -

_“—first place! Summer Rose is currently leading the race with an almost definitive lead as the nearest car, running in second, is at a harrying full 30 seconds behind her!”, the announcer yells out as the crowd roars in love at their local icon. And I’m cheering with them, fists in the air, my face hurting with a smile so big and eyes so wide because holy wow I love racing! I watch in childlike awe as my mom races with such precision, so cool, like it’s not even her and her car. It’s like the car and her are together, as one. I notice how every turn she takes is so close, barely having to drift, and her tires almost never lose grip. The way she drives is almost exactly like she is in person; sharp, precise, smooth, but also warm, kind, and full of love._

_“Summer Rose crosses the starting line once again, setting fire in her wake as she starts the final lap, setting a new lap record and personal best!”, the announcers continue, keeping the crowd in constant hype. “Will the other drivers be able to catch up? Will they even be able to see her again before the finish line? Summer Rose, driving in her beloved Crimson Spectre, seems absolutely unstoppable!”_

_The screens around the track are all zoomed in on mom, and there’s a shot of her inside the car, smiling so devilishly warm, with eyes that have a look like so sharp they may as well be knives. She’s in it to win, and no matter how much of a goofball she might be, racing is everything. Mom and Dad bought the track together, and she defended it with her racing while he defended it from falling apart. Mom winks at the camera and I swear she just vanishes into a huge pile of white petals. But she’s not gone. If I wasn’t paying attention, I wouldn’t see how fast she passed the—_

\- - - - -

   —finish line for the last time tonight. I start to slow down and unwind from practice. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Repeat. I don’t need to drift anymore; the speed is spent for the night. The moon rose higher into the night as twilight slowly faded away. I slowly coast my way down from the last turn into the pit lane, and I see my older sister standing there, waiting. Her arms are crossed, she’s leaning against the wall, and her face has that loving smile and knowing look. And I can’t help but smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many major thank-you's to the writers of the r/RWBY discord server, who've helped me refine this jewel from the roughened gemstone I started with.  
> Special thanks to Ëvan, Dayton, and Dream, for all of your critiques and nudges in the right direction.


	2. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy and proud of myself that I managed to break 1K word count!  
> This trailer definitely went in several ways I didn't expect it to when I first started writing it, but I'm very proud of the end result!  
> A new narrative dynamic has been added to the field!  
> Again, thank you for your patience, and please enjoy the ride~!

   The bitter chill of speed and efficiency rang throughout the pit lane of the arena, a sensation I'm all too familiar with. These specially designed cars, sleek and aerodynamic, matched me nearly one for one. We keep a beautiful face on the outside, pretty and prim for the cameras of the masses, and sing with our tires against pavement. I take a brief second to relax in my seat and ease into the safety harness, my hands unclenching the Aura plates on the steering wheel ever so slightly. I need to remember to breathe.

   I felt my wheels meeting the ground once again as the pit crew finished changing tires and refueling, the few brief seconds of respite serving to help very little. The stop flag raises and I drive out like I’ve done so many times before. There’s no thinking involved, just a practiced motion, over and over. He’s probably not even watching anyway, so what does it matter. All my skills and talents are wasted trying to impress him and he doesn’t even have the decency to watch my performance.

   As my front wheels cross the lane separator back onto the track, the increase in speed lacked any sensation, more so from my lack of interest rather than the inertia dampeners in the seat. Doing these races for the family name became more and more like some kind of obligation rather than the passion I had started with. I remember my first tournament in Atlas, how happy and proud I was, my entire family there to cheer me on. Then he decided to use me as one of the faces of the company.

   Second place quickly came to be only a few inches away from my front wing. I know I have to be careful since any dent will ruin any aerodynamic advantage I might have. A quick glance ahead to the left and right showed very little room to pull ahead. I had to wait for the next turn. With the speeds we were driving at, the turn came very soon. The next place driver turned very sharply into the inside line, leaving the outside very open. What an amateur.

   Taking the turn wide and braking lightly gave me just the right amount of momentum to speed past second place and take the position as my own. The first objective was to put distance between myself and the car behind me. My second objective was obvious even to a novice: to close the distance between myself and first place. Looking ahead, I could clearly see the first place driver in their moniker of blue and yellow, somewhere around 11 seconds ahead of me. This was nothing.

   Flooring the gas, I shot out of the turn and chased after first place. Ten seconds. The engine in my car was only slightly better than the others, with me having a direct line to the manufactured prototypes. Nine. Briefly checking my rearview mirror confirmed I was pulling ahead. Eight. Another turn. Seven. More acceleration. Six. You’ve practiced for this. Five. Slaved away months for this. Four. You won’t let them ﹘three﹘ take this ﹘two﹘ from you! One.

   As I pushed my way past first place, I heard the muffled thud of an explosion from somewhere. Looking around, I saw nothing but grim red flame and black smoke in my mirrors. In my shock, I briefly lost control and the back of my car hit against the previous first place racer’s front wing, with the results being instant. I spun out as they collided full force into my side, flipping me over my sides and causing both of us to wreck in the middle of the track.

   By the time I got my senses back, three more explosions had went off around the racing arena. Relieved to find I wasn’t in pain, I unbuckled myself from my harness and got out of the car. Visibility in the arena grew smaller and smaller as the area was filling with smoke. Four more explosions went off at the same time, except this time they came from above. I looked up just in time to see almost three quarters of the entire roof collapsing onto the track, destroying the pavement, causing pile ups, and crushing drivers under debris. Another eruption from immediately behind me went off and I quickly spun around to see what had happened. I really wish I hadn’t.

   Large chunks of debris from the ceiling landed directly on top of the third place driver, causing his engine to combust in its new unstable housing. The encompassing explosion caused shrapnel from the car to launch in all directions, including a wrought alumisteel chunk heading straight for my face. I had no time to move or react. I just stood helpless as my brain slowed down my perception of time while what I thought was my end came rushing at me. All I could do was think “I’m going to die.”

   The next thing to happen as metal met my helmet was the sound of shattering glass, warping my sight into the sudden darkness I found myself in. I fell briefly in that void before I rose, gasping and jumping awake from the nightmare, sitting in terror from reliving the nightmare yet again. I desperately looked around and breathed in relief as I saw I was back in my room. The scar across my left eye pulsing just a bit, reminding me once more that what I saw wasn’t just a dream and really did happen.

   Take a deep breath and relax. Get a hold of yourself, Weiss. It happened a long time ago and it shouldn't be bothering you anymore. Breathe. Getting out of bed and walking over to my dresser, I gazed into my reflection; the mirror’s warped vision revealing once again the crack across the porcelain doll’s face. Along the edges of the mirror was clipped pieces of news articles, all reporting on the same story: the terrorist attack on the race.

   The group that did it was apparently called the Black Talon, a splinter from the White Fang that believed all humans should pay for their history of racism against faunus-kind. I eyed one news article that showed their symbol: the leg of a Nevermore with three talons carving out jagged red lines. The image held no emotion except pitch black malice. Dirty, lying, thieving, murdering savages, all of them.

   Looking back into the mirror, I couldn’t help but muse while staring into my eyes:

Mirror, mirror, what’s behind this face I see?  
Mirror, mirror, save me from my nightmare dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected thank-you to "Check the Certified -x-" of the r/RWBY discord server, who actually helped me bridge several crucial details in this trailer.  
> The creation of the Black Talon was the only way I could justify having such an event in my story, as the White Fang themselves would never have done such a thing in canon.  
> I'm excited to see how their inclusion in the narrative will continue!


End file.
